


Things Are Different Now

by LlLACFUMES



Category: Shameless - Fandom, gallavich - Fandom
Genre: 5x12 rewrite, Angst, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, SOFT AS FUCK, Shameless isn’t cannon, going through emotions like Adults, justa little bit, sammy doesn’t exist, they talk shit out !, we don’t even go there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 11:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16515992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LlLACFUMES/pseuds/LlLACFUMES
Summary: Mickey doesn’t even let the twink get down on his knees before he cuts him off. He’s a little drunk, and regardless of how fucking pissed he is at Ian Gallagher right now, he’s not about to break his loyalty streak for some short-stack blonde who responded to his ‘cupcake’ bait.orThe Season 5 Episode 12 rewrite we deserve.





	Things Are Different Now

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I’m rewatching this hell of a show right now so of course my first Mickey/Ian fic would be about an idea I had that wouldn’t leave my brain aka how this episode should of gone! I wrote this super fast, and of course edited it myself so any and all mistakes are mine!! tell me them in the comments or just anything you want!!

Mickey doesn’t even let the twink get down on his knees before he cuts him off. He’s a little drunk, and regardless of how fucking pissed he is at Ian Gallagher right now, he’s not about to break his loyalty streak for some short-stack blonde who responded to his ‘cupcake’ bait. He uses his hands to nudge... fuck he forgot his name. Chad, probably. Or Jack. Whatever it is, he pushes him backward, gently. He is on the north side after all, he doesn’t want to risk hurting the little college prodigies’ feelings and ending up with a lawsuit for sexual assault on top of the six other things the fucking Chicago PD wants to lock him up for. The blonde looks a little offended, but tries to woo Mickey with a sly smirk, using his thumb to wipe at the corner of his mouth like they’d even done anything yet. Jesus, he needed to get out of here. 

“What’s the problem, tough guy?” he asks, and Mickey’s heart clenches weakly. He hates this. He misses Ian, he misses when things made sense, when he felt like at least for a little bit things were under his control. Shit, maybe he’s more than a little drunk. His throat is tight like he’s about to cry, and Mickey Milkovich would never be caught dead crying in public. Especially not in front of some guy who was about to suck his dick. Then again, it seems like everything about himself is out of character recently. 

Fucking Gallagher’s.

“I can’t do this.” Mickey says simply. He doesn’t feel as though he owes this man much else of an explanation, and he finds he might be to drained to even offer him one if he seemed fit. 

“What? C’mon!” the blonde says, dismayed. “I’ll just suck you off man, 15 minuets. Tops.” Mickey feels his stomach churning slightly, disgust instead of appeal coming forth at the offer. He feels cheap, and immature. It hits him with a sudden realization that it’s because it reminds him of... of whoever the fuck he used to be. Sneaking around back alleys late at night trying to get rid of his urges. Before he was out, or as out as he is now, hiding a part of him in hopes it would disappear. Or shoving it so far underneath the covers no one else could see it but him. He doesn’t want that anymore.

“I just gotta fuckin go, alright?” He says, harsher now. “Get outta my way, plenty of welcoming dicks in boystown who would pay a pretty penny for what your offering for free.” The guy seems a little stunned, maybe even offended. Mickey doesn’t stick around to see what he does next. He walks hurriedly, the chill of Winter in Chicago seeping into his already shaking hands. His breathing is labored and his eyes sting, and he makes his way as fast as he can to the L before the events of the night can catch up to him and seep into his brain. He should have never come down here. 

As he finds a seat among the three other passengers on the train at 12:00am, Mickey knows his attempts are in vain. The night plays out for him in vivid technicolor when ever he desperately squeezes his eyes shut at every flow of emotion that rushes into him like angry waves. A steady mantra of ‘not here, not here, not fucking here Mickey,’ plays in his head. He looks out the window and sees a snow covered Chicago pass underneath him. He allows himself in passing, to worry about Ian. If he’s safe, if he’s with his mother. He prays to the God he doesn’t believe in the Ian isn’t alone, that he isn’t wandering the streets somewhere below him needing to be found. Mickey presses his hot forehead heavy against the icy glass pane and lets out a shuddering sigh. He needs to stop thinking shit like this, his stops coming up anyway. 

As Mickey opens the already unlocked door to his house, he holds his breath. As he steps inside he quietly shuts the door behind him before leaning heavily against it. Mickey exhales and begins walking to his bedroom. With every step it’s like he can feel his legs turning to lead. He slides his jeans off and plops into his bed, pressing the palms of his hands firmly to his eyes. He takes breaths, the kind Debbie taught him about if Ian was ever having a panic attack. He never thought they’d come in handy for himself. He inhales slowly for three counts, and exhales for four. He does this about three times in succession before opening his eyes again. 

His vision dances and swirls for a second due to the pressure but at least it gives him something to focus on. He picks up his old iPhone, opening it and immediately clicking on the telephone icon. Mickey’s only tried calling once today, so he figures one more time wont hurt. He clicks on Ian’s contact name and holds it up to his ear. The silence before the first ring is deafening. It rings two, three, four more times before a simple beep rings out. Ian couldn’t have at least had a voice recording on his phone? That way in case Mickey never fucking sees him again he’ll at least have a way to hear his voice. 

God, he’s becoming such a god damn girl. He doesn’t bother leaving a message this time, the last thing he wants is for Ian to forever have a voicemail of him breaking down like a little bitch because, what? He got dumped? No thanks, he’ll keep his dignity if nothing else. He sets his phone down on the nightstand nearest to him before squirming to get under the covers. He tries to focus his energy on counting rhythmically to lure himself to sleep but it doesn’t come. Mickey tosses and turns until the sun begins to rise, and only then does he finally rest. 

-  
Mickey absolutely hates alarms. He doesn’t even remember fucking setting an alarm to go off today, it’s not like he has anything to do. He grumbles into his warm pillow, cursing himself for making his alarm tone the “Marimba” option. He must’ve accidentally - wait - fuck! He sits up quickly, reaching for his phone ringing in the nightstand. “Fuck!” He says, his voice still low and gravely from sleep. He thinks he catches the call in time, his finger quickly sliding the answer key as he lifts the phone up to his ear. “Hello?” he asks, twice even before looking down and seeing he never actually answered it at all. His breath is starting to pick up, and his hands are already shaking as he sighs frustratedly before clicking on Ian’s name once again, only now it shows Mickey is the one with a missed call. The phone rings, once, twice, three times. Mickey’s heart is beating so hard he thinks it’ll pop right out and his mind is spiraling in so many different directions he can’t even think of what to say. What if Ian’s hurt? Or fucking dead? Why won’t he answer the-

“Hey Mick.” Ian says simply, and Mickey really should be mad but all he can feel is his heart slowing, his chest loosening and warmth flooding into his head. He’s so relieved. Mickey sighs, 

“Where the fuck are you?” He responds, just as simply. He hears Ian’s breath hitch, it sounds like music to his ears. 

“My house, on the porch.” Mickey doesn’t respond. He hangs up the phone before standing up on shaky legs and throwing on jeans and a coat. He almost runs out of the house without his shoes on. After lacing up his boots which feel like they take years, he walks as fast as he can out of his front door and down the leading steps. The closer he gets, the harder it is to keep his composure. By the time he has to cross the street, he’s full on sprinting. He honest to god can’t feel his legs, but they obviously aren’t keen on waking. It’s like his body is a magnet, the closer he gets to Ian the stronger the pull is. He finally, finally, turns the corner street where the Gallagher house is but he can’t stop running. He finally slows his role when he passes Kev and Veronica’s, but he literally has to skid to a stop when he reaches Ian. 

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath and soak all of Ian up. Ian looks sick, for lack of a better word, but he’s alive. And he’s so beautiful. Mickey looks Ian up and down as if he’s seeing him for the first time, making sure all limbs are accounted for, making sure the damage is strictly internal first. “Where the fuck you been?” Mickey asks without any heat, but the hurt there is strong. Ian is staring right into his eyes, something he hasn’t done in a while. All Mickey wants to do is wrap Ian in his arms. He doesn’t care why he left, not right now. He just wants him to know he isn’t doing anywhere. 

“I was with my mom.” Ian says, and even though Mickey that already knew it clears up almost the rest of the worry. At least he wasn’t alone. 

“You okay?” Mickey asks next, his second most important question. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. He knows Ian isn’t okay, but is doesn’t know where they stand. He doesn’t know why Ian left and why he can never seem to give him what he wants. He’s tired of the not knowing. Ian doesn’t answer that. He looks back up into Mickey’s eyes, though. Neither of them say anything for a few seconds, desperately searching each other’s eyes for a hint of anger or resentment. Neither of them find anything of the sort. There’s fear, and relief, and stress and questions, but no malice. Mickey can see Ian relax a bit. 

“Can you come inside?” Ian says instead. Mickey just nods. Ian stands up from his place on the porch slowly before opening the front door. Mickey watches him like he’s an apparition, scared to get too close but even more terrified to lose sight and never see it again. The gallagher house is... empty. Which was not was Micky was expecting at all from Ian’s homecoming. Ian seems to sense Mickeys thoughts because he says; “Fi and Lip are still at work, and the kids are at school.” he says with a shrug. 

“They know your home?” Mickey asks, brows furrowed. The fact that he is here before Ian’s family is pissing him off a little bit. As soon as he knew Ian was home he came running. He’s expect the same from his older siblings at least. Ian surprises him though by shaking his head. 

“I wanted to see you first.” Mickeys breath catches at that. He softens and nods, though he doesn’t know what to say. “There’s a lot I want to say to you and I figured it’s just better if it’s us.” Mickey gestures upstairs and Ian begins walking. He follows of course, and simply sits on Ian’s bed while the redhead goes through the drawers nearest to him. Ian slips off the blue and green flannel he was wearing the last time Mickey saw him and exchanges it for a soft looking t shirt. It’s only when Ian turns around that Mickey realizes it’s his. His eyes once again travel up and down Ian’s body, but the feeling that accompanies it isn’t anywhere near lust. He doesn’t know what to call it, exactly, but it bubbles in his chest and makes his hands tingle. He feels so relived now that he knows where Ian is. He’s worried still, and fucking pissed still, but when Ian sits down next to Mickey on his twin size bed so close that their shoulders touch the bubbly feeling floats to his head. Mickey decides he’s just going to stay quiet until Ian is ready to talk. Just sitting close enough to him is making Mickey feel better already. 

“I hate the meds.” Is how Ian starts the conversation off, and it makes Mickey’s nails dig into is palms. He thinks of the recent two years; Ian at war, then not at war. Ian at a strip club, coked out and grinding on whatever gray faced asshole would slip him a 20, to living with him to stealing his baby and going to jail. He wonders how that in any alternative mesures up to be more appealing than a couple of pills every day, but again he stays quiet. All he does is look at his hands and avoids Ian’s eyes, because despite all of that he can’t say he didn’t know it. “But,” Ian starts off again, and Mickey looks into his green eyes once again. “Hurting you is something I hate a lot more, I’ve come to realize. And hurting my family, that-“ he cuts himself off with a shake of his head like it’s too much to even think about. 

“But I think Monica is smart, in a way.” He says, and Mickey looks at him incredulously. He gives him a small smile as he continues. “She told me that I needed to find someone who truly wanted me for me. I think for awhile, I didn’t think that was you. And then I realized, that this isn’t me.” His eyes fill with tears, and Ian bites his lip and looks down. There’s a pause - a lull in the conversation. Mickey presses his shoulder against Ian’s firmly. Just to let him know he’s there. “I’m not Monica. We look the same, we share the same DNA, the same shitty fucking disease.” He shakes his head again, and looks back up at Mickey. “But she’s willing to lose everything and everyone in the name of being free, and I’m not. Because that isn’t freedom, it’s hell dressed up to go out with a bang. It’s everything ugly she’s ever done to us and she wears it on her back like a superhero cape. I don’t want to do that to my family, and especially not to you. The worst part is,” Ian gets out before his voice finally cracks. He looks down at the ground hard for a minute before looking back at Mickey with red watery eyes. 

“The worst part is,” he says, “I already have. And it’s not permanent trauma, but it’s already here. It’s in the worry in your eyes, and the fact that your bottom lip hasn’t stopped trembling since you sat down.” It’s Mickey’s turn to look at the ground now, his eyes becoming blurry as he tries to force himself through this part. “It’s in the fact that haven’t touched me since I’ve been back.” He adds after a beat, and Mickey looks up at him quickly. 

“Ian-“

“Just - wait, okay?” Ian says, “I hate the meds,” he says again “but I’m gonna take them. I don’t want to end up like her, thinking I’m doing the best for myself while everyone cleans up my mess. I want to be better, but I also want to give you a chance.” If Mickey wasn’t confused before, he fucking is now. “I’m sure you already know by now this is going to be a lot. And it’s going to be my whole life, and I just want-“ His voice breaks again, but Ian swallows hard and presses on. “I want you to leave, if you want.” When Mickey still doesn’t say anything Ian continues. “This is me saying that, that if you don’t want this, if this is something that’s already ruined you and your only here because you feel bad, you can go. No hard feelings.” Mickey’s head is throbbing. No hard feelings? What the fuck? 

“This is it, huh?” Mickey asks, his voice strained, “this is you breaking up with me.” Ian’s face contorts and he sighs into his lap. 

“No.”

“Then what the fuck Ian? Do you want me to go?” Mickey asks, his heart beating hard. 

“No!” Ian says, fresh tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “Of course I don’t want you to fucking go, but I don’t want to waste the rest of your life either. “

“Ian, I love you.” Mickey says, and he doesn’t even mean to say it, swear to fuck. But his mouth is moving before his brain is which he guesses means he’s using his heart and fuck it, let him do that once in a while. “Your shit was my shit the day I met you, don’t you get that?” Ian is all eyes on him now, his face an simple “o” shape. “I wouldn’t of come back here, I wouldn’t have sat through your shit time and time again if I wanted to leave. I want to be here, I want to be with you. This isn’t a waste of my life, man. It’s what I want to do.”

“Yea?” Ian asks, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Yea, asshole.”

“Can I kiss you?” Ian asks, and Mickey doesn’t even respond. He melts into Ian, letting the warmth of his lips finally make their way back into Mickey’s heart. They kiss slowly and softly for a few seconds before Ian opens his mouth and lets his hot tongue slip between Mickey’s lips. They tangle with each other for a bit, until Mickey is laying underneath Ian with both is arms held above his head, his hands linked with Ian’s. They continue to kiss languidly, Ian slowing begining to thrust against Mickey. Mickey lets out a little whine into Ian’s mouth as the begin to thrust into each other clad in jean. Ian moves away from Mickey’s lips in favor of licking down his throat, suckling on the top left part of Mickey’s neck until he keens, his hips thrusting up. Ian slows his nipping, gong back to just slightly sucking on Mickey’s neck and grinding into him. Ian already took his fucking morning dose of meds so he knows getting hard isn’t a possibility, but he lets himself feel Mickey for a moment. He slows his hips and moves his lips back to his mouth, bringing one hand to stroke at Mickey’s cheek. They kiss slowly, Ian’s other hand moving up and tangling in Mickey’s hair. Eventually he pulls away and Mickey has to keep his eyes closed for a few seconds after the kiss, relishing in the feeling. Mickey lays his head on Ian’s chest and breathes in his scent. 

“You scared the shit outta me.” He says, his cheek still pressed into Ian’s collar bone. He feels Ian inhale sharply. 

“I know. I’m so sorry.” Ian says, but Mickey shakes his head. 

“Not like-“ He fumbles, “I realized a lot. While you were gone. I know you weren’t gone for long, but-“ He sighs. He can’t believe he’s about to say what he’s about to say. He feels the anxiety run up into his belly and his heart. He’s terrified even now. He really doesn’t want to bare his soul for Ian Gallagher, especially not after the wringer he was just thrown through. 

“Hey,” Ian says softly, and Mickey looks up at him. “I love you.” Mickey’s breath catches in his throat. “I know I should’ve said it earlier but I love you, so fucking much. And I’m not gonna judge you, not after what you just saw.” Mickey snorts even though it isn’t particularly funny and starts talking. 

“I’ve never felt like this before. That might not be hard to believe but it’s so different to feel. I think about you all the time, if your okay, if your smiling, if you think about me. And before, it was because you were here now. And then you weren’t and it was like - I don’t know.” He says, shaking his head with wide eyes because he honestly doesn’t. “It sucked.” He says simply. “I was worried all the time, on fucking edge, thinking crazy shit like you were dead on the street or, I don’t know man. Stuck in a drug cartel or some shit. I just wanted you here, and safe. That’s all that mattered. Nothings ever mattered more to me than that.” 

Ian leans down and presses his lips against Mickey’s firmly, letting his words wash over him like everything good he’s ever felt. He pulls away and smiles at him. “I think that’s the most you’ve said. Like ever.” Mickey slaps him on the chest. 

“Shut the fuck up and hold me, bitch.” Ian laughs. He never thought he’d hear Mickey Milkovich say that in his life. 

He doesn’t think on it too much. Life is different now. 

They’re different now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Please feel free to leave comments and kudos along with any prompts you’ve been thinking of! My twitter is @LILACFUMES with a lowercase L in place of the I, and my tumblr is @vintagemarsh! Love you guys wit my whole heart!


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